I would look through the window at feeble old men
and secretly smirk
and secretly pity
Now the window looks back and its message is clear
that old man is you
and the picture’s not pretty
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2020)
The Stolen Horse
Why try to write like somebody else,
by others passion driven
A watered down copy, trespassing free,
to alien words you’re smitten
A copycat artist who mimics the sounds,
your voice a toast unbidden
While somebody’s pain and somebody’s joy
—the stolen horse you’ve ridden
(Rosemont Pennsylvania: April, 2020)